


Leather and Lace

by SidheLives



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Nervousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28473993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidheLives/pseuds/SidheLives
Summary: Written for Jukkari ❤️Merry Christmas.
Relationships: Lace Harding/Female Inquisitor, Lace Harding/Inquisitor, Lace Harding/Lavellan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	Leather and Lace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jukkari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jukkari/gifts).



They had spent months beating around the bush. Months of short, professional meetings punctuated by playful jabs and coy smiles. There was something there, even if no one else could see it, she felt it. Like flint and steel they struck against each other and made sparks. They had spoken about it once, agreed that the sentiment behind the flirting was mutually genuine, and… nothing had changed.

Julseithe wanted it to change. She wanted to cup that precious face between her hands and find out what her lips tasted like. She wanted to share a moment that wasn't surrounded by dozens of other people watching her, worshiping her.

She didn't want to be the Inquisitor and Scout Harding, she wanted to be Julseithe and Lace.

Seeing her in the courtyard, Julseithe made the sudden decision that today would be the day it changed. She didn't know how long the scouts would be in Skyhold: they were always moving, brushing in and out of the fortress with more regularity than she did herself, which said a lot. It had to be today, and it had to be now, before she lost her nerve.

Her legs felt heavy and awkward as she crossed the yard, like a newborn halla learning to walk, and she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. She opened her mouth to call out a greeting and found her tongue bone dry. Before she could wet it and try again, Lace noticed her and waved. Julseithe saw a brightness come to the dwarf's eyes that she wished beyond hope was because of her.

"Scout Harding. Good to see you somewhere not infested with Venatori for a change," Julseithe managed, finding her voice.

"I do need the occasional break, and the free drinks are nice." Lace grinned, nodding her head towards the Herald's Rest.

She had such a beautiful smile. Her eyes sparkled like dew covered grass at dawn. "Would you care for one now?" Julseithe plowed ahead, not allowing herself time to think about the words spilling from her lips. "Since it's my treat either way."

If the invitation surprised Lace, she hid it well. She was, Julseithe reminded herself, the Inquisition's lead scout, it would be more strange if she did visibly react.

"I think I would. Thanks, Inquisitor."

"You can call me Julseithe you know." She spoke too quickly, her nerves creeping up on her.

"Oh? How about Jules?"

"You can call me whatever you want." Julseithe bit her tongue. Too much.

Lace chuckled. "Well alright then, Jules. Shall we go in for that drink?"

She was sure her cheeks were pink, she could feel the heat radiating from them. "Let's." She got the door, holding it open for the scout, and they wordlessly drifted to a table set into a nook in the wall. It was the closest thing to privacy the tavern contained.

"You a mead or an ale woman?" Lace asked as Julseithe sat.

"Mead. Thanks," she responded.

With a curt nod, the dwarf turned and headed for the bar. This left Julseithe alone with her thoughts, which was quite possibly the worst-case scenario. Anxiety ricocheted inside her, colliding with the butterflies in her stomach and making her momentarily nauseous. _Get it together Lavellan_ , she chided herself. It was only Harding after all. They had flirted and joked together dozens of times before, this was no different.

Except that it was different. _Different_ was the entire point.

"Here we are." Lace plopped the full tankard in front of Julseithe with a clank that made her jump. The dwarf laughed apologetically. "Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you. Can't really figure out how to turn off the sneaky anymore."

Julseithe returned a shaky laugh, uncomfortable with her own discomfort. She was the mother-fucking Inquisitor, this shouldn't be this hard. "What are you drinking?"

Lace slid into the seat opposite her and shrugged. "I'm an ale woman myself. Mead is just too, I don't know, sweet for me I guess."

 _You're sweet enough all on your own anyway._ The words were there, they were perfect, but they stuck to Julseithe's tongue like raw nut butter. She cleared her throat. "So how are things going? I haven't seen you since the Hissing Wastes."

"Well, I'm still cleaning sand out of places it has no right being." Lace smirked. "But good otherwise. What about you?"

"Me? Oh, I've been keeping busy. Even when I'm not out closing Rifts and fighting dragons, Josephine keeps me busy with diplomatic meetings."

Lace made a face of disgust. "That sounds worse."

Julseithe laughed, some of her unease receding. "It is. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the Orlesians. No matter how many I meet I never get used to the masks."

"It's weird, isn't it? Like they're always hiding something from you. How do you have a real conversation with someone when you know they're keeping something from you?"

Lace's voice was casual, but Julseithe's anxiety spiked. She laughed, hoping it didn't sound as uncomfortable as she felt, and took a drink, hiding her expression with the tankard. She wasn't keeping anything from Lace, for Mythal's sake she was _trying_ to tell her. Her diversion backfired as Julseithe choked on the thick, sweet mead in her haste and she ended up sputtering like a fool, one fist held against her mouth.

"You okay there, Inquisitor?" Lace tipped her head to one side.

"I'm fine," Julseithe coughed again. "Completely fine. What happened to Jules?"

A flush crept up Lace's cheeks. "Right. Jules. Old habits I guess." She rubbed the back of her neck in a way that reminded Julseithe of Cullen's awkward manner. 

The blush made Julseithe's heart race. _Do it now_.

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about."

Lace recovered her composure, the blush fading, seemingly relieved for the apparent change in subject. "Of course, what's on your mind?"

"I know you said we should talk more about… _things_ after Corypheus was defeated…" Julseithe took a deep breath before plowing ahead. "But I was thinking that we could talk about them sooner than that, like maybe now, or maybe not now but soon, just the two of us."

All the color seemed to drain from Lace's face. "Like… a date?"

Julseithe backpedaled as quickly as she could. "Only if you wanted to, of course. This is fine, just talking about _not_ that, I don't want to put you on the spo—"

"Yes." Lace cut her off, color rushing back to her face until she appeared plum, washing away her freckles.

"Oh," Julseithe caught her breath, leaning back slightly. "Great." 

"Where did you have in mind?" Lace didn't look at her as she asked, eyes trained deep into her tankard, and the blush had not faded.

_Shit._

Julseithe had not considered that far out.

"I, well, I hadn't actually gotten that far," she blurted honestly, feeling her face approaching a similar hue to Lace's.

Lace peeked over the edge of her tankard at the other woman. "Maybe we could just, take a walk?" She gave an awkward shrug. "The ramparts are usually deserted."

Julseithe blinked at her, dumbfounded. "You mean now?"

Lace nodded, making the whispy curls around her face bob merrily. "I have nowhere to be."

_Don't lose steam now Julseithe._

"That sounds perfect." Her voice sounded sure. Hearing it almost made her believe it. She pushed up from her seat too hard, making the chair bump roughly into the wall causing them both to start. A chuckle bubbled out of her throat. 

The great Inquisitor, Herald of the Illustrious Andraste, making a fool of herself over a pretty girl.

The laughter was contagious and Lace's blush faded as they both fell into peals of giggles. 

"Sorry about that," Julseithe offered, wiping her eyes.

Lace laughed again as she got to her feet. "Don't worry about it. Now when I trip over my own feet and fall on my face it won't seem so dramatic."

They left the tavern, silent except for the anxious buzzing in Julseithe's ears. She cleared her throat to break the strange quiet, which drew Lace's eye. "Do you really think you'd trip?"

"Nerves turn my feet to nugs," she offered as explanation.

Julseithe slowed her pace as they began to climb the stairs. "You're more nervous around me than when you skulk past enemy lines?"

Lace laughed, her perfect teeth catching the sun and making Julseithe's heart flutter. "No competition. The worst a bear or rogue Templar could do is kill me."

"What could I do that's worse than that?" They reached the rampart's peak and, clear of the walls, a gust of wind pushed Julseithe's nut-brown hair across her face. Sputtering, she brushed it aside to find Lace looking at her with a sweet, warm smile.

"That for one." She laughed, then sobered. "Or the way you chew on your lip when you think. The way your hands flutter around your dagger sheaths when you're nervous. You smile and everyone around you can't help but smile too. A million little things that stop my heart."

Julseithe was so red her mouth couldn't find words, she gaped at the dwarf, lips opening and closing before she swallowed hard and found her voice. "You're much better at this than me," she admitted.

"I've been… preparing for a while I guess you could say." Lace's smile was a mixture of sheepish pride

"You're definitely better at _that_ than me." Julseithe remarked and they both laughed.

As Lace had guessed the ramparts were empty except for the two of them, and Julseithe found herself chewing on her lip as they walked. "Could I— I mean, would you be alright if I—" she floundered. Lace had known exactly what to say and she couldn't get out a whole sentence. "Creators save me. May I hold your hand?"

"I'd like that." She offered her hand.

Julseithe knew she looked like an idiot as she took the smaller woman's hand, wearing what Varric called her "shit-eating grin," but she wasn't much concerned with how she looked. Lace's hand bore the telltale calluses of bow work but between these rough patches was soft as silk.

"I haven't been preparing," Julseithe admitted. "So I don't think I can be exactly as eloquent as you were…" She glanced down at Lace's face and found her smiling encouragingly. "But I— well, I just think you're the kindest, prettiest, most interesting person I've ever met. I miss you when I'm gone, or you're gone, or even when we're both here but not together. I love your eyes, and your freckles, and your smile. I think about you all the time, I want to kiss you—"

She inhaled sharply and clenched her eyes shut, feet stalling midstep.

She'd said too much.

Dirthamen take her, she should have known she'd flub it up.

"I think you should."

Julseithe's eyes fluttered open in surprise. Lace was pink, one foot tucked behind the opposite ankle, nervously rubbing up and down.

"You do?" Her heart was hammering in her ears.

Lace nodded quickly. "I don't know if it's really allowed, you're the Inquisitor after all, and I'm, well I'm nobody, but I'd like to kiss you too—"

Julseithe cut off Lace's words, leaning down to press their lips together. She let her eyes drift closed and Lace squeezed her hand in surprise or excitement, but she didn't pull back. 

Her lips were so soft and she smelled like fresh rain. 

Julseithe relaxed into the kiss, letting her free hand drift up to cup the woman's face, thumb trailing ever so softly over her cheek. 

It was better than she imagined, and she had imagined it often.

Reluctantly Julseithe broke the kiss and looked into Lace's clear green eyes. "How was that?"

"Better than I imagined," Lace replied with a breathy chuckle.

Julseithe couldn't stop the laughter that spilled from her throat, water coming to her eyes.

"What's so funny?" Lace tugged on her arm, blushing again.

"I was thinking _exactly_ the same thing." Julseithe confessed.

The slight frown creasing Lace's brow cleared and she echoed Julseithe's laughter. "Do you think it gets better?"

"I think we should definitely try to find out."

**Author's Note:**

> "Julseithe" is elven for fur, literally translated as "skin cloth" which seems to me like it would also translate to leather.


End file.
